


The Choices We Make

by Wicked_Wayward_Warrior



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Black Character(s), F/M, Miscarriage, Pregnancy, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:40:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24137509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wicked_Wayward_Warrior/pseuds/Wicked_Wayward_Warrior
Summary: Jazzy Baker, witch, hunter, and kind-of-girlfriend of Dean Winchester returns to Sioux Falls after a year to help Sam deal with the hell wall in his mind that was recently shattered by the angel Castiel. Feeling helpless, the team holes up at Bobby’s as they try to figure out how to deal with the new God, Castiel. Sam sleeps off hallucinations and Dean works on the only thing he can fix, his beloved Impala. Jazzy, overwhelmed by emotions as she faces Dean for the first time since she ran off, takes the second of downtime to confront Dean about what pushed her away.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 1





	The Choices We Make

**Author's Note:**

> It takes place at the end of season 6.

Blistering heat ate at my brown skin and stole my breath from my lungs. I had only been outside for all of three minutes, and already my skin had begun to sweat. Thankfully I had two glasses of crips, cold water in my hands.

Dean was on the inside of the Impala’s cabin with his back on the seat and his feet on the ceiling when I walked up to him. I leaned in through the window and smiled at him. “She's looking good,” I said.

Dean, covered in grease and sweat sat up, wiping his soaked hair on his forearm. “Yeah, Jazz, you do.”

“Shut up,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I brought you some water since it's so hot. You want it?”

He sat up, brushing dust off his hands and slid forward in Baby’s bucket seat heading toward the door. “Yeah, just let me climb out. Don't want to mess up the upholstery.”

Two sweating glasses in hand, I backed up, making space for Dean to climb out of the Impala. I couldn't hide the lust in my eyes as he raked his hands through his wet, brown hair, and yanked down on his greasy, sweaty t-shirt as it rode up, exposing his freckled, glistening skin to me.

Being away from him for this last year was necessary, but it was hard. Few things in this world made me feel the way Dean made me feel. He made me feel cared for, and loved, and protected it a way that I never experienced before him. Even now, after everything, no one made me feel the way Dean Winchester made me feel.

When he looked up at me, his jaw slackened beneath the weight of his awe and his eyes traveled the length of me, with slow, deliberate admiration. He flashed me a wicked grin and moistened his plump lips with his tongue. “Whoa,” he breathed.

Blushing, I lowered my gaze to the glasses of water in my hand. Avoiding the greedy look in his green eyes would be the only way to make it out alive. He was having none of that, though. He reached out to me, putting his dirty hand on the soft pillow of my cheek and raised my eyes up to meet his.

Before I became enthralled by his spell, I cleared my throat and shifted my face slightly to release myself from the pressure of his fingers. “Mr. Winchester, you want this water or not? My arms are getting tired,” I teased.

He wiped his hands off on his jeans, all while never releasing his eyes from their trance. “Sorry, I just—It's been a while since I've seen you in short shorts and a tank top. Hell, it's been such a long time since I've seen you. It's like I’m seeing you for the first time all over again, and you are an ethereal goddess.”

Dean Winchester had a way with words. He knew how to change the tone of his voice, flash his white teeth, and smirk his way into making me swoon. Since the first time I met him, right here in Bobby's backyard, it was how he hooked me in. He was smooth, and he was aware of it. This time, I couldn't fall into his trap.

It was hard enough to be here with him after all this time. I missed him; there was no doubt about that, but I wasn't ready to rush back into his arms and start over with him anytime soon. I knew that was what he wanted and what he expected.

I maintained a coy smile and handed him his glass. “Thanks,” he said, and tilted the glass bottoms up. Water cascaded down the corners of his mouth, soaking the collar of his shirt with more than just sweat. Amused by how he somehow always missed his mouth, I giggled, almost spilling my own glass in the process.

While he gulped down the entirety of his glass, I drank mine and made my way over to the stripped-down Impala Dean had been working on for days. I leaned on her side, feeling the rough metal beneath my fingers. “How long you think before she's back up and running?” I asked.

Dean gasped for air, catching his breath once the water in his glass was all gone. He set it on his work cart and joined me by Baby. “Honestly, I'm not in any rush. I've got to take my time with her. Make sure she's herself, you know?”

I nodded. I knew the feeling. “You have an infinity for that car. It's like every time she wrecks, you find a way to piece her back together just like she was before, imperfections and all.”

“Yeah, well, nobody does Baby like I do.”

I giggled like a little school girl and tried not to get lost in the pride swelling in his eyes. When I stopped, I felt a shift in the energy between us. I averted my gaze, trying to ignore it, but Dean wouldn't allow it. It was interesting how much he'd changed in the last year.

He scooted closer to me, brushing his shoulder against mine. Heat and lust bounced off his skin and onto mine and then right back. If the connection we had was a tangible thing, it would be thick and solid, strong enough to weather anything. Or so I thought.

I was startled when he planted a kiss on my shoulder and I turned to face him, seeing that his sultry gaze had turned somber. His jaw clenched and his lips pursed as he was lost in thought. I wondered what battles were being waged in his mind and how they would spill out.

Dean’s fingers brushed mine as he took my glass from me and set it on his cart. Reaching up, he scratched his brow and sighed heavy and deep. “Look, I don't know how to ask his pretty like you do, but I can tell there's something bother you.”

“There's nothing bothering me,” I said quickly. A little too quickly.

He pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers and closed his eyes. “Bullshit, Jazzy.” He dropped his hand and turned his bright eyes to me. “Baby, talk to me. Is it Sam you're worried about? Or are you afraid of Cas? What? I can't protect you if you don't tell me what's going on.”

The corners of my lips turned into a sad smile. It was no surprise that he immediately rushed into being protective. Since he was four and carrying little Sammy out of a burning house, it's been his duty to protect and care for everyone. Most importantly, protect his little brother. It was part of what made Dean, Dean, whether I like it or not. Which, was part of the problem.

“You don't need to protect me,” I said after swimming in a pond of silence for long enough. “I can look after myself.” It was less of an admission and more of giving him permission. Giving him permission to not put me first.

“Jazz, what are you talking about? You're my girl. You're my family. It's my job to protect you. I'd do anything for you.” He didn't know that he was lying, but I knew. I knew that he believed that he would do anything for me, but I couldn't. Not when the evidence pointed in the opposite direction.

I didn't mean to snap at him, but the frustration building inside of me took on a mind of its own. “Would you? Would you do anything for me?”

He leaned back, shock in his eyes and tension in his shoulders. “What are you talking about? Of course, I would. If you remember correctly, _you_ were the one that walked away when things got tough. Not me.”

I shifted my wild mane of coils and curls over to my left shoulder, clearing my view of Dean. Any lust or desire he felt before had taken a back seat to his rage, and I couldn't be mad at him. I didn't want to argue. I didn't want this to turn into a yelling match. I wanted him to hear me, to understand.

I met his anger with patience and tranquility. “Did you ever wonder why?”

“Why what?” he asked, redness building on the tip of his ears.

“Why I left.”

Dean shrugged and I felt his rage deepen. “Of course I did, Jazzy. It was all I could think about for weeks. I figured you were depressed or something. Or that you just didn't want to be with me anymore. I thought you saw that I couldn't protect you or the baby the way I should have and...” his voice trailed off, unable to say the words out loud.

Part of me, the part that felt the need to rescue everybody, wanted to reach over to him, hold his hand, and comfort him. My pain wasn't the only pain, here. But for so long, I let my pain take a back seat, focusing on Sam and Dean. I owed it to myself to be honest with him, to honor the hurt that dug wells and valleys inside my chest.

“It wasn't about you being able to protect me, Dean,” I said softly.

“Then why'd you leave?” he asked. His voice trembled and broke, and for a moment, he sounded like a child, begging for me to stay. His desperation and sadness were palpable, leaving me to feel like a monster.

I swallowed hard trying to keep my emotions at bay. When I hopped in the Impala with Dean to help Sam with his hell wall, I promised myself that I wouldn't leave until I talked to Dean, and I wouldn't break that promise to myself. Not even for him.

A smile came to my face, temporarily, as I recalled the sweetest memories I shared with him. “For a year, Dean, it was just you and me. We cried together, we fought, we loved, and we hunted. I loved you before, but every moment we were together my love deepened. Each smile, each breath I took was a declaration of my love for you. When you asked me to marry you, it was the happiest moment of my life. The thought of waking up every morning, looking into your sparkling green eyes, counting your freckles, and kissing your scars filled me with such bliss that I couldn't even put it into words.”

As I spoke, the tension in his jaw softened and he turned himself to me. He respected the invisible barrier that still existed between us, but I could see it in his eyes how he wanted to knock it down and pull me into his chest. I stuffed my hands in the pockets of my shorts just to guarantee that I didn't help him pull at the bricks I'd intentionally laid out.

Reading the eager twitch on his lips, I continued. “And when we found out we were going to have a baby...I never knew that I could feel that kind of joy, that kind of excitement, from knowing that our love could make something so beautiful, so permanent.”

The brick wall between us became a chain-link fence and he reached his fingers up to caress my cheek. “I felt the same way, Jazzy. I never knew I could be apart of something so good. So pure.”

My cheeks rolled into the callouses of his hands, and I inhaled the scent of him. The smell of motor oil and whiskey permeated the deepest parts of my mind, triggering all sorts of chemicals and hormones, and I fought against them, knowing that I wasn't done breaking my own heart.

I wrapped my fingers around his hands and pulled them down into the sliver of space between us. “And then Sam came back.”

His body went rigid and his hand pulled away from mine. Slumping forward, his gaze dropped to the ground and he took a short step away from me. “Jazzy...”

I interrupted him. “I love Sam, Dean, you know that. But when I walked into our kitchen and saw him, I knew that whatever perfect fairytale I cooked up in my head for us was over.”

“Jazzy, he's my brother. You and I both spent most of that year trying to break his ass out of hell. Both of us!”

“I know. But I was supposed to be your wife. I was supposed to be the mother of your child. I guess I created this illusion that we were an _us_. And when Sam showed up, warts and all, I _knew_ that whatever we had was over.”

“It didn't have to be like that. We could have figured it out. _Both_ of us. But _you_ made that decision for us when you left.”

Furious, Dean pushed himself off the Impala and started pacing in front of me, raking his hands through his hair and muttering to himself. I knew this was hard for him to hear, but it was difficult for me to say, and even worse to feel.

“I left, Dean because the thought of giving you the chance to chose Sam over me scared me more than anything I'd ever feared in my life.” Rage spilled from every word, and suddenly, it wasn't the sweltering heat that made me feel warm and sticky.

He stopped pacing to glare at me with fury and ire. Even under the bright light of the sun, his eyes darkened. “He is my brother, Jazzy! Sam was out of hell and out of his damn mind. You've seen it! You saw how messed up and broken he was 'cause you were in his mind. You saw the number Lucifer had done on him,” he said, jabbing his index finger in my direction.

Guilt rose like bile from my stomach and I wrapped my arms around myself. This was what I was afraid of. I knew that Sam had gone through hell and came back worse for it, and I hated that I resented him because of it. I closed my eyes, trying to push down the tears that were sticking to my lashes.

I refused to open my eyes. I refused to see the hatred pouring out of Dean when he looked at me. Lips quivering, I whimpered, “We lost our baby, Dean. And all you could be bothered with was Sam.”

When I opened my eyes, Dean was right in front of me, eyes glassy and wet. His fingers trembled as he reached out to me, but I turned my head away. I didn't want his sorrow or his pain. I didn't want his hurt or his anger. I wanted him to see mine and determine that it was worth something to him.

But I wouldn't get that. Not in a world where Sam and Dean were both alive and there were monsters to be killed. Keeping my arms wrapped around myself, I slide past him, being cautious not to brush his skin as I moved. “I guess I made the right decision, huh?”

“Jazzy!” I heard him call after me, but I kept going. I walked past the piles of scrap metal and the red containers filled with gasoline. My feet crunched over the gravel and the leaves it buried as I walked past Bobby's workbench and through the screen door that led into the kitchen.

With Dean and the Impala tucked safely behind the kitchen door, I pressed myself against it and every fiber of my being crumbled into a mess of tears and hair and my heart broke clean in two.


End file.
